The Buyer Brought Her Emails To Our Second Court Hearing

The buyer's name was June Mercer. She was a retired engineer from Annapolis, and she carried her papers in a plastic folder with a broken clasp.

Anton had called her a valued collector in his emails.

She had wired him $180,000.

"I asked whether the clock had clear title," she told Mina outside the courtroom. "He said his own expert had been at the recovery."

She looked at me.

"Were you his expert?"

"I repaired what he sent me. I never went to that site."

"I suppose we both should have asked more questions."

"I started asking when I found the number."

She nodded. We went inside.

This hearing concerned Anton's demand for my records and his claim that I had broken our contract. Mina had also asked the court to address the false certificate. The criminal investigation remained separate.

Anton sat beside his lawyer. There was no cream handkerchief this time.

His lawyer said the certificate might have been an office error.

June opened her folder.

Her first email asked for proof of ownership. Anton's reply promised a signed recovery examination. His next message attached the certificate and called my signature a guarantee.

Both messages had been sent after I reported the clock.

The office employee who had made the file had supplied a sworn statement. Anton had sent her my February service report and told her where to place the signature. Mina submitted that statement with the source file.

Anton's lawyer asked for a recess.

The judge granted ten minutes.

In the hall, Anton stood by a drinking fountain. He watched June pass without speaking.

Then he turned to me.

"You could have come to me."

"I did. I said I couldn't sign it."

"I would have paid you."

That hurt more than the lock. He still thought the problem was my price.

Back inside, the judge denied his request to seize my archive. She kept the access order in force and set further proceedings on damages and the false filing. Mina would not let me call that the end.

"It's a good order," she said. "We still have bills to prove."

I saved it anyway. I read it twice before sleeping.

Three mornings later, Dana called while I was oiling a pivot.

"Warrants are being served today. Stay at your shop. Call if anyone contacts you."

I set down the oiler.

The movement rested in its brass bowl, held by rings that let a ship clock stay level as the deck rolled. I watched those rings settle, then put the dust cover on before I answered her.

The investigation had matched seven Wren clocks to paid sales totaling $1,464,000. The supposed recoveries had happened after the warehouse robbery. My photographs tied the concealed plates to Anton's signed intake descriptions and the buyers' new faces.

The money records linked his payments to two men who had prepared the false claims. The property logs and consulting payments tied Marr to the clock released from police storage.

There were gaps left. There were also names, dates, numbers, and witnesses for what was already there.

Anton was arrested at his warehouse. Marr was arrested when he reported for work. Officers secured the claim files and the clocks they found under the warrants. Court orders restricted access to accounts holding disputed sale proceeds.

I learned those things from Dana and the filed charges, not from a view of handcuffs.

At noon, I ate a cheese sandwich over the sink. Then I repaired a broken lid hinge for a school museum.

The hinge cost them $85.

It was the first bill I had written all week without feeling watched.

Camille called that evening.

"They cleared my handling of your report," she said. "There's a written finding."

"Have you read it?"

"Three times. Apparently I'm thorough."

I leaned against the bench.

"What happens now?"

"Dana keeps the case. I return to other work. We remain witnesses."

"And dinner?"

She took a breath.

"After testimony. I want one good thing we don't have to explain from a witness stand."

I could wait for that.

The next afternoon, Ruth Wren came to see the service records for her mother's collection. Dana had arranged the visit. Ruth brought clean cotton gloves, though we only handled copies.

She pointed to six blank spaces on the recovery list.

"These were her favorites," she said. "He always wanted the best ones. She wouldn't sell."

I thought of Anton touching brass as if touching made it his.

Mina called before Ruth left. Anton was out on conditions set by the court. His lawyer had forwarded a written offer from him.

He would reveal the location of the last six clocks if I signed a statement calling my ownership concerns a mistake.

"Keep the offer," I said.

"I already have," Mina answered. "So does the prosecutor."